Dining Out
by McRose
Summary: What was going through RADM A.J. Chegwidden's mind at his retirement Dining Out?


12

"Dining Out" introduces the writing team of "McRose" (the nom de plume combines portions of each of our last names). The high plains of Kansas – whose family background is Air Force – and the Navy JAG Corps veteran of both coasts have joined forces!

An earlier, less complete version of this story was posted last year on by highplainswoman. The story was taken down in preparation for reposting under the collaboration name—it was Janlaw's suggestion to make this a "prequel" to another story, soon to be ready for posting called "Admiral's Mast". Apologies to those who may have read the earlier version. If you want to see what was "adjusted", most of the additions occur towards the end.

Standard disclaimers apply. "All the usual legalese." Additional authors' notes are at the end to avoid distractions.

Spoilers: Hail and Farewell (The Admiral's Retirement Party- Season 9's finale).

"Dining Out"

21 May 2004

Officer's Club, Naval Academy, Annapolis, Maryland

i What was really going through Admiral A.J. Chegwidden's mind at his retirement Dining Out /i ?

He sipped his coffee, opting for the moment to avoid the wine, and took in the roomful of people celebrating his retirement. He leaned back and took one final look at these people, some of whom had served with him a very long time, a few not so long.

His eyes fell on the newly-promoted Lieutenant Commander Roberts and his brother. Bud still had a stunned look on his face as he accepted the congratulations and well-wishes of his friends and colleagues. Midshipman Roberts was beaming with pride, so much so that A.J. wondered in a moment of whimsy—not the first that had struck in the past few days—if his uniform buttons were going to pop off his uniform. He snorted in amusement and his mind wandered back to more serious thoughts.

Bud Roberts. Good man. He was developing into an incredible attorney—as good as Rabb or MacKenzie, if not better. He remembered the bumbling lieutenant who had transferred off the Seahawk all those years ago to come into JAG Headquarters as a legal aide. Even then, as a law clerk assisting his two senior attorneys, he had displayed flashes of brilliance in supplying logic and common sense to his mentors. In return, they had provided him with the much needed moral support necessary to build up that fumbling self-confidence that was the source of the bumbling "dork" act. At times, his bumbling had provided much needed "comic relief" from the tension generated by those same mentors. A.J. often wondered if that "dorkiness" was as much an act as reality. He had never made the mistake of assuming there was little else to the younger man—it just needed uncovering. He was as solid as a rock, a pole of stability for the upcoming crop of young attorneys coming into JAG Headquarters. He was not flamboyant; indeed, A.J. often thought he provided the perfect foil for the more flamboyant attorneys among his gifted group. He was the all-American good guy, who never really got into trouble and provided the foundational base for everyone when things threatened to spin wildly out of control. A.J. never let anyone know his little secret; he, too, had found himself depending more and more on the young man to provide emotional stability in moments of stress. And wonder of wonders, that emotional stability seemed to come naturally, without strain, which in and of itself, was something those around him appreciated without really being aware of it. Perhaps, A.J. mused, that was in part a reaction to having grown up under the kind of man Master Chief Roberts had been.

And, of course, you really couldn't think about Lieutenant Commander Roberts without thinking of his wife, Lieutenant Harriet Simms. She too was a fine officer and a much stronger woman than many gave her credit for—a force to be reckoned with both at JAG and home. He accepted her decision to be a stay-at-home mom but hoped she'd request to return to active duty when the kids got older. JAG Ops had never run so well as when she was in charge of the bullpen operations.

No one ever knew, but he had kept a watchful, if somewhat remote, eye on the development of that particular romance. The progress of their relationship, culminating in the one JAG wedding to date had provided him moments of unbridled amusement and wonder. He also suspected Harriet had had a lot to do with the forward movement of that romance; in some ways, Bud had been as clueless as Rabb when it came to relating to women. But Harriet was not Mac: She didn't have the troubled background Mac had had to contend with; she had a knowledge and understanding of the human heart—with one notable exception. When it came to her husband, there for a short while, she had been insecure in her marriage and he was guilty of thinking with pleasure that he had helped her through a particularly rough spot. Let's see—it was when Harm and Mac had gone to Australia. He hadn't seen the "fight" that had produced Bud's broken jaw—but after the lecturing and the "non-judicial punishment" had been administered, he and his Australian counterpart had shared a drink and laughs over the whole situation. Thinking back over the nine years or so he had been in command, he couldn't remember a funnier event (funny in retrospect, since there was no permanent damage done. Bud, bless his heart, had been a good sport about the whole thing).

It was Harriet who had provided Bud with the additional spark of ambition and steadiness that had propelled him through law school and his first years as a judge advocate, then onto the aircraft carrier as Staff Judge Advocate. No one could have foreseen the unfortunate and profound results of what should have been a solid, career-enhancing two years as an afloat JAG for the young officer. He wondered if Harriet carried any residual guilt about that. Hopefully not; he remembered with humility and a little awe her response when he'd asked her if she blamed him: ". . .if he had to choose between having his leg back and never having had your leadership he'd choose you. . ." Even so, he acknowledged only to himself the little bit of guilt he felt, due to his having encouraged Bud to accept the career-enhancing transfer. But Bud, with the help of Harriet, had long moved beyond the psychological injuries that were a part of losing a limb and was now back in full swing. Having been found fit for full duty by the Physical Evaluation Board (Medical Review Board), Bud had more than earned his promotion. He felt good about what he had done in pushing it through. It sort of assuaged, a little bit, some of the guilt he still carried.

Is there anyone in this group who could have foreseen and predicted the accomplished attorney who sat with his friends and colleagues celebrating his good fortune, especially after losing his leg? At that thought, his eyes turned to the most senior attorneys among their little group. There were two specifically, but one especially who might have possibly seen this coming—Commander Harmon Rabb, Jr. Tall, distinguished, handsome, and very accomplished, although those accomplishments hadn't come without a great deal of pain, struggle, and suffering. Perhaps Lt Colonel MacKenzie as well—Bud's co-mentor. He remembered what he'd heard her say to Harm when Bud told Harriet she couldn't wear Madonna's "pilfered" dress to the Surface Warfare Ball when the "video princess" had offered it: "We taught him good."

He purposely kept his thoughts from dwelling on Commander Rabb and instead turned to look at Commander Turner. It was hard to believe he and Harm had known each other longer than anybody else under his command. The two were so diametrically opposed in personality and temperament. But Sturgis was just as troubled and restless as Harm was, for far different and less obvious reasons. Sturgis had really struggled with hits to his self-image. So far as A.J. could tell—with the help of Verese Chestnut, Sturgis apparently had come to terms with who he was and what he was and where he was at in his life. Probably far more than Rabb, really—but then, Sturgis had the advantage of having Chaplain Turner in his life in a far more intimate way than Rabb had anybody. Was it because he was so close to his father that he was much more receptive to his (A.J.'s) efforts to help him than Rabb ever was? One thing was for sure: Turner had never pushed his buttons as hard as Rabb had. Without trying to "play favorites", he had tried his darndest to let Sturgis know he appreciated his struggles—although—and at this thought, the corners of the admiral's mouth turned downward for just a second or two—he didn't appreciate, even now with the period of time that had passed since Harm's absence as a result of Paraguay—the revelation that the bickering he had blamed Harm for may have been a result of Mac's personality as much or more so than Harm. i That /i thought put an abrupt halt for all of two minutes in his mental review of the key personnel under his command: He knew there had been a lot of dissension in the ranks during the months Harm was away and he had been shocked and startled to become aware of just how wrong he had been when he had accused Harm of not being a team player. Harm's absence—with the resulting dissension and plummeting morale—had really been a wake-up call, which was the primary reason he had been able to swallow his pride and reach out to Harm in that memorable visit to Blacksburg to ask him to come back to JAG. Like it or not, Harm's personality was the glue, for weal or woe, that had held the heart of JAG Ops together, and without his personal charisma, the morale in the place had just plummeted. In his own defense, A.J. knew his personnel had been overwhelmed with work, especially with the Imes situation, but that didn't explain it all. He could only now admit to himself that his own bad attitude at the time had also contributed.

His eyes fell on his senior attorney. Harm had been at JAG longer than he himself had—what would it have been—more than ten years anyway. No wonder Rabb had had occasions of restlessness. More than ten years at one duty station was unheard of. Nevertheless, it was a fact. When assuming command, he had taken a very brief look at the service records of the key personnel who would serve under him. At that time, Rabb had been a newly promoted Lieutenant Commander. His fit reps from his previous JAG superiors, with the possible exception of Commander Ted Lindsey, had all been glowing and without reservation. Lindsey's fit reps, in A.J.'s own mind, were now regarded as "suspect" for any number of reasons. Admiral Brovo, in his final fit rep, had been so enthusiastic that A.J. had wondered, just in passing, if Harm indeed "walked on water."

He couldn't think of Rabb without also thinking about MacKenzie. Strange, those two never having gotten together, especially after the disaster that was Paraguay. He would have sworn on a combined stack of Bibles and Shakespeare that there would have been a wedding in the works once the dust settled. Instead, there had been a strange estrangement between the two and more than once, he remembered, he had been baffled. Not that he would have guessed it from the beginning—he remembered quite clearly the circumstances of their first meeting. Even then, there had been an almost tangible "aura" surrounding them. What was it he'd said? "Don't get too close—you have to work together." Harm was receiving his first DFC—did the man live a charmed life, or what?—and Mr. Webb had wanted a certain, specific Marine Major in addition to Rabb for the mission. It was only after the mission had been successfully completed that he had found out just how devious Clayton Webb could be—the instigator behind that particular heist had been Mac's Marine colonel uncle! He wished now, looking back in hindsight, that he had remembered the specifics of that particular situation. If he had, he might never have authorized Mac's original mission to Paraguay. Not that it would have done any good—Deputy Director Kershaw probably, in all likelihood, would have taken his case directly to the SECNAV and he probably would have been overruled. So, why did he still feel so guilt-ridden over the entire episode?

He knew that, far more than for Bud's injury, he would always feel guilt—if he had questioned Webb more closely, he would have realized how ill-conceived and poorly planned that CIA operation had been; and, he hoped, he would have refused to let Webb ask Mac to "volunteer" for it, and gone to the wall with Kershaw and the SECNAV if necessary. He knew that her loyalty and dedication to duty would never let her say "no," no matter what the risk. He should have also realized that Webb had no backup. . .or, maybe he'd considered Rabb his "backup", knowing that Harm would go after Mac if anything happened to her. Of course, at the time, he'd had no idea Webb had also involved Gunny. But he certainly knew that Webb had a long history of manipulating JAG for his own agenda and he should have known that the Paraguay mission would be no different. He'd been preoccupied with his own discontent, Lindsey's hellacious "audit", Singer's murder, his annoyance at Harm, his brand new engagement—but those were excuses. To his everlasting shame, his failure of leadership had put his two best officers squarely in harm's way and had nearly gotten them both killed.

He tried to re-focus on his retirement dinner but his mind was stuck on the events of a year ago: After his and Mac's capture rescuing Gunny, Webb had been tortured within an inch of his life, and from the little Gunny had let slip in his one brief call from the American Embassy in Asuncion, Harm had saved Mac from the same fate by seconds or minutes. No human should have to endure that horror, and he felt the guilt again as his stomach churned and he tried not to think about what her memories and nightmares must be like. More than 35 years after his SEAL tour in Vietnam, he still had nightmares of that hell-on-earth, and he had never been captured or heard the screams as a friend or teammate was tortured.

He didn't believe in vigilante justice, but by God, he was glad Mac had been the one to get Sadiq Fahd. He hoped she still didn't feel guilty about having shot to kill. That bastard had been pure evil.

His gaze fell on the late-arriving colonel. She had gotten more beautiful as the years went by. He hoped she wasn't ill—she'd asked for the day off for what she'd vaguely said was a doctor's appointment and minor medical procedure and he hadn't questioned her or asked for any details, but she looked pale and in pain under the carefully applied makeup. He could see that she was only pushing the food around on her plate—definitely not a good sign where that particular Marine was concerned!

The rumors circulating around after she had gotten back from Paraguay had her seeing Clayton Webb for a time. He had found that surprising and a bit unbelievable; however, it would have explained Rabb's part of the estrangement if it was true. He remembered how hostile Rabb had been when he had asked him to come back to JAG to help with the Imes debacle. Rabb had taken a calculated gamble and lost—big time. Contrary to popular opinion, A.J. wasn't entirely unsympathetic, especially after being betrayed by Meredith—who, A.J. remembered with a jolt, had been Mac's "friend" first.

Despite all of that and her troubled past, A.J. was tremendously proud of the colonel—she had overcome a lot of demons and past mistakes. She was the quintessential Marine—tough, kick-ass, take-no-prisoners, a crack shot, skilled at hand-to-hand combat—let the politicians talk about not wanting women in combat—he'd take her into battle with him anytime! He remembered watching ZNN news at the time of the aborted take-over of the consulate in Aceh while she was TAD to the i Guadalcanal /i , knowing she had taken command and ensured the safe evacuation of the personnel there. He never made the mistake of pairing "Marine" and "for a woman" in the same sentence when he thought of her! Yet. . .images of her in a long evening gown, her hair and makeup perfect, at the Surface Warfare and NATO Balls and other similar occasions crossed his mind and he wondered, for a moment, how she reconciled being both "Mac" and "Sarah". Funny though, she was always "Mac" to him and he'd always felt that she disliked being called "Sarah," even by Dalton Lowne and Mic Brumby. She was also a brilliant litigator, fair and just when on the Bench, and a superb advocate. She'd saved his "six" when he'd gone to Mast before the SECNAV for slapping that high school kid who'd so provoked him. He remembered seeing her and Congresswoman Bobbie Latham together in a heated discussion over the Osprey helicopter and had been struck by the picture it had presented—two powerful, highly successful women in their own right. He was astonished they hadn't become closer friends—but then, he mused, maybe he shouldn't have been—they were too much alike.

He watched as Rabb's and MacKenzie's eyes kept meeting and ducking. There was still an obvious attraction there—what Rabb self-depreciatingly referred to as his "swim in the Atlantic" was proof enough for anyone who cared to look. Everyone who wasn't blind saw it and wondered when they'd get their heads out of their "sixes" and act on it. A.J. bit his lips to keep from letting a smirk show—maybe he should have just given them an order! But the mystery remained as to why things hadn't worked out for them after their Paraguay experience. He wondered if they would ever work it out.

Rabb and MacKenzie. What a combination! What a tragedy, really. Her mission with Clayton Webb had turned into "their" mission and an unmitigated disaster. As if they, individually and as a 'couple', didn't have enough baggage without the fallout from that little excursion to South America! A.J. lifted his coffee cup to his lips as he continued to stare at the couple. They were acting as if they were having a good time, and he truly hoped they were.

Again, he felt the guilt he knew he would carry to the grave for his share of responsibility for their involvement in the CIA's fiasco. Both as their CO and as their friend, he hadn't done right by either of them a year ago. He'd abandoned Mac to die in the Chaco Boreal, and then made life hell for Harm. What made it worse, he thought of Harm and Mac, as well as Bud and Harriet, as his children. His shoulders slumped slightly and he finally acknowledged to himself the real reason he was retiring: he'd violated both the SEAL code and the Navy's Core Values and felt he no longer deserved to be a Naval officer, let alone the Judge Advocate General. Meredith's betrayal and their broken engagement had merely been the last straw. Yes, he wanted to spend time with his daughter, but that wasn't the primary reason.

Paraguay had changed both, but especially Harm.

He was darker, more reserved and cagier than ever when it came to expressing his feelings. What had changed about him—he was bitterer, less "innocent"—although he had never really been a "babe in the woods"-- and a whole lot less flamboyant than before. It was as if a shooting star, bright in brilliance and excitement, had dimmed. A.J. didn't doubt the passion was still there, especially for the colonel, but it had most definitely been banked. His emotional controls were now even more firmly in place and A.J. would have sworn there was nothing in this world that would ever shake those controls again. Thank God for Mattie Grace—despite her wariness around him, A.J. couldn't hold a grudge against her in his heart. He smirked a bit to himself, remembering her calling him "that mean old bald guy." Mattie had the same inner strength Harm had, along with his spirit and loyalty. He held onto a theory Harm literally wouldn't have survived if she hadn't shown up and played such a large part in his life. Harmon Rabb a parent! And a good one at that! Who would have thought that a possibility? He had only had very brief glimpses of them together—it seemed to him, however, that's when the "old", more innocent, more "open" Rabb showed up.

He watched the colonel's lovely face as she laughed at something Sturgis had said, and saw out of the corner of his eye, a brief smile cross Harm's face as he watched her. If there was one thing that seemed to be totally missing the last couple of years, it was that grin Mac had called Harm's "flyboy" grin. A.J. suspected they would never see that broad smile again; it had reeked of innocence and joy in just being alive for the moment. Rabb these days was way too defensive and closed to allow that kind of openness again—unless Mattie saw it.

Of course, Petty Officer Coates might have seen it, too. That living arrangement, after the commander had assumed guardianship of Mattie, was among the most unorthodox he had ever seen. One sign of Rabb's new maturity: he had come to the Admiral to let him know about the housing situation before any action had been taken. The admiral remembered quite clearly Rabb's words of explanation: his eyes had been clear and cold. He wasn't thinking so much of himself and any possible flirtation with charges of fraternization, but more so about Petty Officer Coates. The Admiral had gotten the impression Harm had long given up on any possibility of promotion to Captain—way too many "dings" in his record—but he had done his darndest to make sure Coates wasn't put into an impossible situation. He kept a tiny grin hidden: it had helped Rabb's case—and he was sure Rabb was aware of this fact—that he was tired of finding Coates' clothing hidden all over in both his and her offices. It was so-o-o-o typical of Rabb to be the opportunist, especially since the solution, if unorthodox, was a win-win solution for everybody. He truly appreciated Rabb's creativity, not just with this situation, but also in the courtroom. How many times had Rabb maneuvered the law to make sure real justice was done? The grin disappeared. It was really too bad such maneuvering too often resulted in too many superiors' feathers being ruffled. Too many letters of complaints, not to mention too many off-the-record comments made to him, both in the privacy of his office over the phone and in social situations. But—overall, a very solid record and a fine service reputation—he might very well make Captain before his career was over. Since Jennifer had moved in with Mattie, life seemed to have settled down for both Rabb and Coates. All in all, for such an unmitigated disaster Paraguay was, the dust was finally settling for at least two of his staff and towards the happier side at that. He supposed he should be happy and thankful for small favors.

He frowned. Was it an omen he and Meredith had become engaged just at that time? Was it possible the curse that had descended on Harm and Mac had extended it's tentacles to include him, as well? He shook his head—these were thoughts that he would have credited to Mac—he didn't have any reason to doubt her psychic abilities but he didn't put ultimate faith in them either—or even Rabb, given his emotional temperament. He suspected he hadn't known the entire story when the two had come back from the investigation about the now-decommissioned "Ticonderoga" many years ago, but he did know Rabb's long-buried ambition to find out what had happened to his father had been revived with a vengeance after that particular investigation. Mac had mentioned something about a list but the quality of her silence after that made him think there was more to the story than what was either in the official reports—models of propriety and decorum—or the unofficial story each one had given to him. The Ticonderoga had been the ship Harm's father had flown off of in Vietnam—was it possible Rabb might have seen his father's ghost? A.J. snorted. Since when do I believe in ghosts?

He sighed and put down his coffee cup. Time to "go ashore", as the saying went, for the last time. He'd promised himself that he wouldn't get maudlin or dwell on the past. He knew there was a life out there, waiting for him. People were starting to move around to get ready for the dancing to follow. He saw, before he picked up his cover, Harm and Mac head out the door to the patio for their own little chat, arm in arm. The corners of his mouth twitched upward; at least they had started speaking to each other again. He remembered another night, another party; the two of them had spent most of it on his front porch. Maybe, just maybe, they would find their way back to before Paraguay. Maybe, someday, he'd get to walk a JAG bride down the aisle after all.

Before he stepped out and left, he paused one last time and looked around: they were all good people, every single one of them despite their flaws and imperfections and disagreements. Even Harmon Rabb, maybe especially Harm—good and noble in intention and much too self-sacrificing for his own good. The one thing he would wish for Harm above all people, is some inner peace and the happiness that had always seemed to elude him. He had done too many good things for too many people along the way at a heavy cost to himself to not deserve to find some enduring joy in this world. In the last year of his command, he may have been more than just a little disgruntled with the commander, but he surely deserved some goodness of his own. Since he himself had reconnected with his daughter Francesca and rediscovered the joy of being her father, he could only wish that Mattie would somehow ease the pangs of loss and provide Harm with her own version of that same joy, whether or not things worked out with Mac. That would be his last prayer and thought for his people at JAG—a relatively happy and at-peace-with-himself Harmon Rabb. He was just too big a domineering and dynamic personality to not make inadvertent waves in his surroundings when things weren't going well. He had learned the hard way, the short six months or so Harm had been out of the Navy, Harm was both the glue and the buffer for the rest of the crew when he, the Admiral, was cranky. Neither Mac nor Sturgis Turner had the temperament to bear with the grizzly he knew he was capable of being. Surprisingly, Jennifer had also proven to be made of the same kind of "steel" Harm was; without necessarily being unduly insubordinate—although, like Rabb, she had flirted with crossing that line more than once—she, too, didn't put up with much of that crap from him. He made a mental note to himself to send her something appropriate to let her know that, after all this time, he truly appreciated her contributions in her role as his administrative assistant.

He didn't know who his long-term successor would be; he had heard whisperings that Sturgis Turner, not Harm, would be appointed for the short term. He knew that wouldn't sit well with Rabb, but for Turner's sake, he was happy about it. Sturgis, for all of his unhappiness in the recent past, would make a good temporary JAG—and his friendship with Harm would hopefully survive. In any case, JAG was no longer his concern, although he did want to maintain some sort of contact with all of them. He had made sure, in all of his "closing conversations"—with the exception of Rabb, who was just too closed and standoffish, to reiterate he wasn't just being "polite" when he assured them that he really wanted to keep in touch. He knew that Bud and Harriet would welcome the future contact he'd promised, both for themselves and for his namesake, little AJ. Hard to believe he was already five years old! But he knew, with Rabb, he was going to have to be the one to make the first move, and he decided he give it a little time for the dust to further settle before reaching out. Harm may have been the consummate professional tonight, rising to the occasion with the toast that was his to make by virtue of being the most senior Naval Officer among them, but he was positive there were still a few ruffled feathers underneath that smooth exterior. Therefore, it was up to him, being both older and presumably wiser and as senior in rank, to make the first move in repairing what had once been a close relationship.

Thinking about close relationships, he was truly sorry his old friend and colleague, retired Rear Admiral Tom Boone, hadn't been able to make it. They went way back to 'Nam, having met in connection with several SEAL ops that Boone's squadron had provided air cover for. By coincidence, Tom had been Rabb, Sr.'s wingman and had known Harm and Trish when they were all young—over 35 years ago now. What goes around comes around, A.J. mused. He knew Tom had kept in touch with Harm over the years as well as having been defended by him twice! A.J. smirked a bit—the luck of the draw had made Mac the prosecutor on both those occasions. A.J. promised himself that soon, he'd locate Tom and they'd get together. He'd buy him a few drinks and two old warhorses would swap sea stories.

His career had spanned over 35 years, well over half his life. Even with the guilt and the regrets, he knew he'd made lasting contributions to his country. He acknowledged to himself the debt he owed this particular group, both officers and enlisted, as well as the ones who weren't here—Mattoni, Tiner, Gunny, even Singer, who hadn't deserved to be murdered, let alone her unborn child. In large part, his accomplishments as the Judge Advocate General were the result of their hard work.

Before slipping out the door, his final time in uniform as the Judge Advocate General of the Navy, he mentally raised his glass saluting the entire crew in a private heartfelt farewell to them: "Fair winds and following seas."

The end.

A/N1 (highplainswoman): During my brief stint as an Air Force wife many, many years ago, I had the pleasure of experiencing the Air Force version of "Dining Out"—only, I believe it was called "Dining In"—I think. I would go into it further except that was many, many years ago—approximately 34 years ago, more or less, and I really don't remember too much, except it was a lot of fun. In any case, it was very, very formal. That particular episode really didn't totally capture the experience in full—how could it, given the time parameters and the dramatic demands of commercial TV?

A/N 2 (janlaw): In the Navy, a "Dining In" is a formal military dinner involving only the Wardroom (officers), in the mess dress uniform, and sometimes, a guest speaker. With historic roots in the traditions of the Royal British Navy, it features a specific set menu, wines, and toasts. "In" jokes abound; sometimes there are skits performed by groups of officers. When spouses/guests are included, the event is called a "Dining Out". There are usually fewer "in" jokes in deference to the civilian spouses/guests present, and there is often music and dancing. Admiral Chegwidden's decision to have a combined retirement dinner/"Dining Out" and to include the enlisted staff and their guests was a break with tradition. "Fair winds and following seas" is what is said to the retiree—we have A.J. saying it to his staff!

A/N3: highplainswoman is a professional "caregiver" for disabled and/or senior citizens, a history and economics major who's a politics junkie. She has grown adult children – but no "significant other" – and one mischievous female feline. Janlaw (her colleagues' affectionate appellation for the indexed and cross-referenced "brief banks" – many years worth of motions, briefs, and allied documents she'd organized during a tour at JAG HQ Litigation Division) recently retired after 25+ years in the Navy JAG Corps. She and her family have settled in the San Diego area in the vicinity of her last duty station. She now works as a civilian employee at another Navy command.


End file.
